Martha doesn't get it.
That's what I told her today. "You don't get it, Martha." She looked at me, perplexed. I didn't give her a chance to respond, I knew exactly what she was going to say. "Don't call me Martha!" to which I would reply "Why not? It's your name, isn't it?" and we'd get caught up in a perfectly pointless squabble. Then Jonathan would exclaim "Clark, go to your room!" and I'd storm off with a bitter expression on my face. Instead, I chose not only the easy way out but the one that would make me look more like an adult. That threw them off. I pushed my chair back, glared briefly at the untouched pancakes in my plate as though they meant nothing to me, even though my stomach was almost audibly growling, and looked daggers at Martha before walking out the kitchen. I went to my room and didn't slam the door. I bet that made them both feel ridiculous, me acting so mature. They'll have to think twice before ever telling me again that I'm acting like a child.
They're hiding something from me, I can tell. It's not that their body language is giving anything away or that they exchange guilty looks when they think they're unobserved, but I know there's a secret. A big one. How two people as dull and ordinary as them could have a big dark secret baffles me. Yet every fiber of my being whispers to me, assuring me that there is something they're hiding from me and I must find out what it is. Do they really think they can fool me? Ha! I'll work patiently, one of them will break sooner or later. I will have the truth.
I still haven't told them about the nightmares. Almost every night, I dream that I am walking down a long road, a big red sun glowing in the sky and I'm whistling. For a brief period, I am happy. But suddenly, the red sun is replaced by a pale yellow one and its rays make my skin crawl. My blood starts boiling and my spine cracks. It's horrible, I have no idea what's happening to me and the yellow sun mocks me, shining bright in its spot. If it had a face, I'm sure it would be smirking. I always wake up covered in sweat. I don't scream because I'm brave. But what does the dream mean? What does it mean?
She's knocking on my door. Martha. "Clark, can we talk?" she says timidly. I tell her I'm busy. She doesn't question it. She walks away. The fight isn't over yet, Jonathan will come knocking soon and he won't take no for an answer. Sometimes I hate them so much! But not as much as I hate that imbecile, George. He's a guy in my class who thinks throwing paper balls at me is hilarious. One time he even tried to take my glasses but the teacher saw him and that was the end of that. What an idiot.
***
That's what I told her today. "You don't get it, Martha." She looked at me, perplexed. I didn't give her a chance to respond, I knew exactly what she was going to say. "Don't call me Martha!" to which I would reply "Why not? It's your name, isn't it?" and we'd get caught up in a perfectly pointless squabble. Then Jonathan would exclaim "Clark, go to your room!" and I'd storm off with a bitter expression on my face. Instead, I chose not only the easy way out but the one that would make me look more like an adult. That threw them off. I pushed my chair back, glared briefly at the untouched pancakes in my plate as though they meant nothing to me, even though my stomach was almost audibly growling, and looked daggers at Martha before walking out the kitchen. I went to my room and didn't slam the door. I bet that made them both feel ridiculous, me acting so mature. They'll have to think twice before ever telling me again that I'm acting like a child.
They're hiding something from me, I can tell. It's not that their body language is giving anything away or that they exchange guilty looks when they think they're unobserved, but I know there's a secret. A big one. How two people as dull and ordinary as them could have a big dark secret baffles me. Yet every fiber of my being whispers to me, assuring me that there is something they're hiding from me and I must find out what it is. Do they really think they can fool me? Ha! I'll work patiently, one of them will break sooner or later. I will have the truth.
I still haven't told them about the nightmares. Almost every night, I dream that I am walking down a long road, a big red sun glowing in the sky and I'm whistling. For a brief period, I am happy. But suddenly, the red sun is replaced by a pale yellow one and its rays make my skin crawl. My blood starts boiling and my spine cracks. It's horrible, I have no idea what's happening to me and the yellow sun mocks me, shining bright in its spot. If it had a face, I'm sure it would be smirking. I always wake up covered in sweat. I don't scream because I'm brave. But what does the dream mean? What does it mean?
She's knocking on my door. Martha. "Clark, can we talk?" she says timidly. I tell her I'm busy. She doesn't question it. She walks away. The fight isn't over yet, Jonathan will come knocking soon and he won't take no for an answer. Sometimes I hate them so much! But not as much as I hate that imbecile, George. He's a guy in my class who thinks throwing paper balls at me is hilarious. One time he even tried to take my glasses but the teacher saw him and that was the end of that. What an idiot.
***
I sneaked out of my room and went looking for the pancakes. Martha was still seated at the table, wearing a pained expression on her face. When she saw me standing there, she grinned and quietly pointed to the counter where my plate was still waiting. I wasn't fooled by the grin, it's just another attempt to make me stop trying to discover her secret. I grabbed the plate and a fork. "How very machiavellian of you," I told her. Yeah, I know what that means, I looked it up. The disbelief spreading across her face was another small victory. "They're not even warm anymore but they will do," I said proudly. She glanced at the pancakes, then back at me and sighed. I went back to my room and practically dove into the plate. Is Martha still in the kitchen? I don't know and I don't care.
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